


Sometimes A Shadow Wins

by Melodious329



Series: Sometimes A Shadow Wins [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Kane (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melodious329/pseuds/Melodious329
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe in Oklahoma where none of them are famous: Strange things keep happening around Christian’s house.  Is it Christian’s imagination or something more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes A Shadow Wins

It’s late by the time Christian finally gets home and he’s tired. Despite the autumn air that’s beginning to cool, he feels hot from putting away gear his father bought unexpectedly. His father may say that he wants to “retire” and let Christian take care of the horse farm, but he has a hard time letting go of the reins, so to speak. His consolation was being invited to dinner so he could eat his momma’s cooking where she asked him about dating and complained he spent too much time staying out late with his friends.

He takes off his baseball cap for a second, running a hand through his shaggy hair before replacing it as he walks into the kitchen for a glass of water. It’s not until he’s reaching into the freezer for a few ice cubes that he notices it. It was a housewarming present from his momma, a blue and white china lemon reamer. It’s not that it’s in the way. It’s barely noticeable against the wall of the counter, but Christian knows that he didn’t leave it out there. He keeps it in one of the higher shelves and hasn’t used it since the beginning of summer. 

Confused, he picks it up, looking at it as if it is going to tell him what’s going on. Several of the guys have keys to his place, but normally most of them who need a place crash at Steve’s place in town. And why would anyone take out this reamer anyway?

Christian puts the reamer back in the cupboard with a huff, and returns to getting his water. When he goes upstairs to his bedroom, he catches himself looking around to see if anything else is moved, but he shakes off that notion. He’s never been concerned with people in his home and he’s not possessive of his things, he’s just intrigued. When, who, why would someone take that out? 

But despite his curiosity, he drops off to sleep quickly lulled by a day of hard work. 

**********

Christian is having a no-good-very-bad-day as he sits in traffic the next day. He’s just trying to get across town to pick up Steve for lunch, but this is the kind of day that he’s having. He woke up before his alarm at the sound of a car backfiring, the hot water went out in the middle of his shower for no good reason, and now he’s going to be late. 

Resting one arm on the windowsill, he uses his thumb and forefinger to squeeze his forehead, trying to get rid of a little of the tension. It’s like ten feet to his turn but he just can’t reach it…

Fucking finally. The line of traffic moves and Christian hits the gas a little harder than necessary. His truck shoots forward as he leans out of the seat, turning the wheel quickly. He looks briefly into his rearview mirror and is surprised to see a small red Jetta moving away from traffic to take the same turn as well. 

Christian frowns. He’s pretty sure he saw the same car this morning on the way out to the farm, and now this car has been behind him since getting into town. Distracted, he pulls up to the curb in front of Steve’s recording studio, watching as the red car drives past him, taking the next right and disappearing into downtown. 

Christian is still staring off into the distance when the car door suddenly opens, laughter filling up the space. Turning his head, he sees Steve climbing into the front seat, unexpectedly accompanied by Jensen shoving in too. It’s tight with three grown men in the cab of his old blue truck. 

“You have the day off?” Christian asks Jensen across Steve.

“Yeah, Parent Teacher meetings and I did all of mine yesterday,” Jensen says easily. “We’re meeting Jared over at the Wild Aces if you don’t mind pizza slices for lunch.”

“Sounds good,” Christian says, distracted as he pulls away from the curb to see the red Jetta again. It follows him away from Steve’s recording studio. “What is that car doing?” he murmurs. 

“What?” Steve asks. 

“I swear that car has been following me since this morning,” Christian murmurs before mentally shaking himself, trying to forget it. Who would be following him? “Oh, I wanted to ask if you guys know if anyone’s been in my house recently.”

“What? Why?” Steve asks before shrugging, the movement rustling against Christian’s arm. “Not that I know of. Your place is too far away from town. Why?” he asks again. 

It’s Christian’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know. Just some things were moved around.”

Jensen snorts and Steve answers him with a mocking smile that Christian can hear in his voice. “How could you tell?”

“What?” Christian asks with a frown, looking over at the two other men for a moment. “I’m not that messy!” he defends himself. 

“Yeah,” Steve mumbles under his breath as Jensen speaks up. 

“So you think this car is following you and things have been moved in your house? Paranoid much?” Jensen asks flatly. 

“Wh…?” Christian sputters. “That’s not how I meant it,” he says, irritated both at himself and at Jensen and Steve as they snicker at him. It does sound stupid when they say it like that, but he’s not happy being laughed at. “Forget it.”

Steve laughs again, but Christian watches the red Jetta in the rearview mirror as he pulls up at the restaurant. He gets out of the car eagerly, happier to see Jared than either of these two fuckers right now. 

“Hey, man,” Christian says, reaching out a hand to clap Jared’s with even though Jared always pulls him in for a hug with those ridiculously long arms. “Got lunch off from the office?” he asks. 

Jared laughs as he goes to hug Jensen and Steve. “Amazingly, I do. No doggy emergencies today, and I’m not on call.”

Christian nods as he takes his seat. Jared is the youngest vet at the clinic and so he gets more than his fair share of overtime for emergencies. He makes good money though which keeps his wife happy. 

Christian doesn’t really look at the menu, they come here often enough that he doesn’t have to and instead focuses on his friends. Jared is telling them about some of the animals that he’s seen that day. He’s always so excited to tell them everything. He loves his job, even loves seeing all the different owners and they way they interact with their animals. 

“And this cat is just freaking out and doesn’t want to be touched. And the poor girl is practically hiding in her momma’s shirt, doesn’t want to see anything happening,” Jared finishes, laughing as their drinks are put down. 

“Thanks,” Christian tells the young waitress who brings his tea, but he smirks when he sees Steve take his glass of diet Coke. No matter how long Steve lives in Oklahoma, he will never like sweet iced tea. 

“So how’s the foal doing?” Jared asks him, knocking Christian out of his thoughts. 

“Just starting to wean,” Christian responds with a smile of his own that’s reserved for his horses. Jared makes an effort to keep tabs on his horses during his off hours though most of his practice are pet dogs and cats. It never hurts to have friends, Christian thinks.

“So when can I get you back in the studio,” Steve asks, having already mostly drained his Coke. “This CD is taking forever.”

Christian shrugs and sighs. He loves music, he does, and Steve really goes out of his way to give him opportunities, but it’s hard to find the time. Whenever he has time away from his parents’ ranch, he likes to just hang out and play with friends, not more work. 

“I don’t know. Winter is slightly slower.” Christian knows he sounds like a dick and he can tell that Steve is pissed though he won’t say it. 

Instead, Steve reacts nonchalantly, slurping up the last of his drink, but Christian can see it all written on Steve’s face. He knows that music is what Steve does and Steve’s excited about the project. Right after college, they made this terrible CD together and it gave Steve the idea to save up to own his own recording studio. When Steve actually scraped up the money and loans to buy the place, he wanted them to make a real CD, a good one. It’s only Christian who’s holding up the process. 

He’s saved from having to say anything else when their food arrives and they laugh about some of the antics of Jensen’s middle school students. Then he’s saying goodbye to Jared and driving the three of them back to the studio, agreeing to come in and say hello to everyone. 

It’s a small studio and Steve does most of the producing himself though sometimes he gets in some more famous producers for projects. It’s obviously a slow day since Steve came out to lunch. Christian goes in to see just Jay who’s an awesome studio musician and Aldis who’s a really young sound technician. 

“Hey,” Christian says smiling, shaking a hand with Jay and bumping chests before he puts both hands down hard on Aldis where he sits. Aldis is huge when he stands so he takes advantage of the position for now, squeezing Aldis’s neck. 

Aldis jumps, not expecting him when the door opened. But then he’s up out of his seat like a shot, hugging Christian fully, warmth suddenly covering Christian from head to toe. 

“Dude, are you here to record?” Aldis asks and releases him. 

“No, not today,” Christian answers, feeling doubly guilty now for not being here to record and now for not stopping by more often to see them. 

But Aldis doesn’t dwell on it. “When’s my next riding lesson?” the younger man asks jokingly. 

Christian laughs. Aldis is huge but the horses frighten him like he’s a little girl complete with squealing and flailing if the horse licks his hand. Even if Christian didn’t   
think that everyone should know how to ride a horse, he’d invite Aldis just for the entertainment. And it makes Beth’s son, Pilot laugh hysterically.

“How’s this Saturday?” Christian offers with a shark-eating grin. “Beth and her son are supposed to come by then too, and you’re about a kid’s skill level.”

Christian smirks as Aldis gets all faux affronted. “Hey, hey, hey, horses are fucking huge, man, fucking huge.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Christian teases still, slapping the taller man in the bicep. “Just be there. I’ll make a cowboy of you yet…after I teach you to muck out stalls.”

“Eww, I do not think so,” Aldis says, his smile turning genuine instead of cocky. It looks better on his young face, Christian thinks. 

“Things been exciting around here then?” Christian asks. 

“Nothing real exciting lately,” Aldis answers looking to Steve for any help remembering. 

“Nah, man, no new projects lately,” Jay interjects from the coffee maker where he’s pouring himself another cup. 

Christian nods to himself before deciding he’s spent enough time dawdling. He can already hear his Dad’s voice asking him if he’s done this, that, and the other. 

“Well, I’ll see y’all. I’m fixin’ to pick up the feed before getting back to mucking out stalls,” he smirks at Aldis and claps the younger man on the bicep before moving   
in to hug Steve goodbye. Steve always smells like the ocean despite living in Oklahoma since college. 

He spends the drive to the store trying to figure out when he can find time to get to the studio. Steve would open on a Sunday for him, but he hates to do that to   
everyone. But he can’t see how he can get off any time soon. He’s lifting a heavy bag of feed on his shoulder when he notices how the new girl at the register is smiling at him. Smiling back at her instinctively, he thinks about going over to flirt with her, but she’s really young under that makeup and he’s still got Steve’s smell on him. 

Steve and he have a complicated relationship. They were best friends from the first moment they met, standing in that tiny dorm room but that doesn’t mean that they always get along or agree on things. Most of the time Christian only thinks of Steve as his best friend but sometimes he can’t help wanting Steve to be more. But even if he didn’t know that it would be a terrible idea, Steve has never shown any interest in him, despite their affectionate friendship.

Still sometimes…sometimes, he’d rather have the fantasy than another one night stand. 

He turns the volume up on the radio on the way back, not wanting to think anymore for the moment. He’s almost forgotten about the reamer being out of place and the car until he catches a flash of red in his rearview mirror even as he’s leaving the city. 

His parents’ horse farm isn’t that far outside town, but it’s still out of the way. But when he turns off to the farm, the red Jetta continues on down the road. Now he’s starting to get actually worried though. There aren’t many farms out here and Christian knows most of them. 

He’s distracted even as he pulls the first bag of feed out of his truck until he hears his father’s voice calling to him. 

“Finally back?” his Dad calls out from the training ring. “Better get that feed out before the volunteers get here. Molly is coming and that new girl, I forget her name.”

Christian nods. There are several girls that volunteer around the stables in order to get a better deal on riding lessons or boarding. Christian will get them started and finish his own chores before going home to the neverending paperwork that the business of horse farming generates. His Dad still loves the horses and giving lessons, but the paperwork and budget he gleefully handed over to his son. When he graduated college, his Dad said welcome to the business of horse farming. 

It was always a given that Christian would take over. His sister is a teacher and she still comes by some to help out, but her husband’s a boring banker and they live in suburbs the other side of the town. Still he sometimes wonders what it would be like to not work for his own father. He loves his parents, but he wonders what it would like to be out there doing his own thing like most of his friends. He made a point to live further away from his parents on purpose, but he still spends almost   
all of his time at the farm.

He waves to his Dad as he’s finishing up everything from their last riders. His parents are dressed to go to some church thing. His Dad just can’t help yelling over, “Did you do that paperwork on the new foal yet? I need that done, Chris!”

Christian just waves him off, annoyed. His Dad is always like this but he fucking knows that the paperwork needs to be done. And he is doing it. He just wishes that his Dad trusted him to be responsible for things. He doesn’t need to be reminded what to do all the time. If his Dad doesn’t trust him then why is he even here?

When he finally makes it home after doing all the manual labor of the farm, he takes the time to look around his house for anything else being out of place. He doesn’t find anything this time, which frankly makes him more concerned than if he had. He starts to wonder if everything really was in his head. There are probably several red Jettas in this town and it was all a coincidence. 

Still distracted, he takes a shower and is then too lazy to make anything other than a sandwich for dinner, thinking that maybe there would be a few pros to living with his parents and the biggest would be food. But he’s got paperwork to do and he’d rather have a few minutes without his Dad over his shoulder or his momma nagging him. 

He’s been at it about an hour when he gets a call from Tim inviting him to dinner at Gina’s steakhouse tomorrow night to go over the foal’s paperwork. Tim always helps him with the legal paperwork and gives him a good deal or just free advice. They never meet at Tim’s office, always having dinner at Gina’s restaurant, so much that Christian considers them all friends. 

Making plans does actually make Christian feel better. He likes Tim, frankly likes a little break sometimes from Steve and his friends and their expectations of him. When he met Steve in college, they were both all about the music. Now that he’s joined his father’s farm though, he feels like it’s a balancing act and he doesn’t seem to be living up to either sides’ expectations. Still he’ll probably call Steve and the rest of them for drinks after dinner because he never can stay away from Steve for long. 

His earlier concerns about the car come back as he lies in his bed that night though. The nights are starting to get cool, but he still keeps his windows open for the breeze. It makes him a little nervous now, the strange feeling that he’s being watched causing his skin to rise in goosebumps. He knows he’s being ridiculous just as Steve said earlier. He’s on the second floor and his front door is locked. Having his windows open is perfectly safe, he tells himself as he rolls over, hugging the pillow to his chest as the breeze blows lightly over his bare back. Still, it takes a long time for him to fall asleep. 

***********************

He has to drag himself out of bed the next morning, tiredly getting dressed and reaching for a bandana to keep his hair back with. But he can’t find it. It’s always on his dresser, ever since he stole the thing from Steve, but now it’s not there. He tears apart his whole bedroom and half of the living room, pulling out his entire laundry basket onto the floor, but still it’s not there. 

Already late, he runs into the kitchen, only having the time to grab an apple from the bowl on his table for breakfast. That’s when he sees it. The bandanna’s in the fruit bowl. Confused, he plucks it out, but he doesn’t have the time to think about it further. He has no idea how he would have put it in the kitchen at all, much less in the fruit bowl. 

Racing out of his house, the dawn light is just starting to fill out his street. He barely registers that there’s a man standing on the front porch of the house across the street. It’s strange not only because it’s ass o’clock in the morning, but also because Christian doesn’t recognize the man. And Christian knows his neighbors. But he would swear that the man is staring right at him as he hops in the truck. 

He’s so distracted that by only mid morning, his Dad is coming out to yell at him. “How late were you out last night?” his Dad asks and Christian huffs but doesn’t bother to defend himself that he didn’t go out last night. “Have you even taken the horses out yet?”

He ends up working through lunch because god knows he’s not getting anything done fast today. He can’t concentrate when he’s constantly trying to get back outside to catch a glimpse of the road in front of the farm, desperate to see a red Jetta, to know if this is all inside his fucking head. Steve is right, it’s not like he never misplaces things. But in the fruit bowl? And why would he take off his bandana in the kitchen?

He barely gets his work done in time to take the quickest shower he can manage and run back out to his truck, trying to make it to dinner on time. Now he sees the red Jetta behind him again, but he’s so annoyed with himself that he forcefully pulls his eyes away. This ridiculous conspiracy theory of his has to stop before it interferes with something really important, he thinks.

Tim is already sitting at their usual table as Christian walks inside, greeting the hostess. And he can see Gina sitting across from him. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” are the first words out of his mouth when he gets over there, Gina already getting up. 

“It’s fine. I was keeping him company,” Gina says magnanimously as she kisses Christian’s cheeks one after the other, the habit still making him slightly uncomfortable. “Anything wrong?” she asks lightly. 

Christian swallows before answering insistently, too insistently, “No, no, just woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I’ve been late all day.”

His hair is still wet as he pushes it back from his forehead, pulling at his blue plaid button-down that he hastily put on in an effort to look decent even though his collar is wet from his hair. He feels foolish enough without telling either of them about how he thinks someone is stalking him. Who would even care enough to stalk him? There’s nothing special about him. Even his one night stands probably consider themselves lucky to escape his attempts at dating.

But Gina accepts his answer as it’s given and then flits off to welcome someone else who’s just walked in the restaurant. Christian only has time to throw a quick smile at Tim before Beth comes with his favorite brand of bourbon. 

“Bless you,” Christian says with a smile. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

Beth laughs out loud at his pathetic flirtation. “Well then you’re too easy because I only bring you drinks and food.”

“Exactly,” Christian banters back. “Still on for this Saturday?”

“Of course. Pilot looks forward to each and every lesson,” she says easily. 

Christian nods. Sometimes she gets a photography job and has to cancel at the last minute, but it’s not like he wouldn’t be at the farm on Saturdays anyway so it doesn’t bother him. 

“How’s Milo?” Christian asks Tim after they’ve ordered dinner. “Doesn’t he want to come ride?”

“Nah,” Tim says hisses from the burn of his drink. “He’s too busy with skateboarding and ignoring me.”

Tim laughs and Christian smiles back a little sadly. Tim’s son is getting older, too old for things like riding lessons, though Tim swears that the kid still adores Christian. 

“Well, let’s get this out of the way,” Tim says, pulling out the paperwork. Christian wishes that all paperwork could be done over drinks and steaks with good company. 

He settles in, only half-listening because he trusts Tim. He more than trusts Tim to do his job, he really admires Tim who isn’t just a straight-laced lawyer like he comes across. Tim has a sophisticated air, but really he has a biting sense of humor which he directs at everyone evenly. He is interested in art and music, even   
Christian’s music which Christian thinks isn’t very exciting or artistic. Christian just has fun with the music, and he has even more fun when people enjoy it. 

“Are you playing again this weekend?” Tim asks him as they’re finishing. 

“No, not that I’m every really scheduled to play,” Christian says laughing. He’s had an agreement with the bar for a long time to play maybe once a month if he can, but half the time he goes in there, he ends up playing. 

“Tell me next time you’re scheduled and I’ll stop by,” Tim says with a proud smile. “You should play more.”

Christian swallows and looks away for a moment. But he knows that his deflection won’t work with Tim. “You sound like Steve,” he says. 

“You don’t like playing with him,” Tim says with a frown. 

Christian huffs because it’s obvious that he does like playing, especially with Steve. “I do, like playing with him, with them, but I just don’t have time to do more.”

“I know you want your Dad to be proud of you,” Tim starts and Christian is always amazed how the man hears what isn’t said out loud. “But eventually, your Dad will have to accept that you aren’t going to do things exactly the way he would. Some time you’re going to have to accept that.”

Christian picks up his drink, draining the last of it. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do, how to take Tim’s advice as much as he appreciates the older man’s concern. But then Tim puts the knife in it. 

“And hopefully Steve will still be waiting when you work it out,” Tim says. 

“Unlikely,” Christian mumbles self-deprecating under his breath. Fortunately Tim is nice enough that he doesn’t mention it. 

They settle the checks and are starting to walk out when Christian gets a call on his cell. He grabs Tim’s elbow to tell him goodbye before walking over to the bar to answer. 

Seeing it’s Steve, he answers with a, “Hey man, what’s up?”

“Just heading over to the Main Street Pub since Jensen had the day off. Wondered if you could make it,” Steve asks. 

It seems clear from the other man’s tone that he doesn’t think that Christian will make it, and that just makes Christian feel even shittier. He tries to go out with them; he just has to be up so early to be at the farm. 

“Yeah, actually, I’m already in town. I can head over there now,” Christian answers. 

“You’re in town?” Steve asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “We’re already here so come on over.”

The phone clicks off and Christian heads toward the exit again. He’s surprised to see David sitting at the bar, though. David looks good in a black button down. 

“Hey man,” Christian alerts his friend before slapping David’s back. “What’re you doing here?”

“Drinks with coworkers,” David says dismissively before he’s grabbing the back of Christian’s neck with his big paw in that intimate way he has, dragging Christian   
forward. “Dinner with Tim? I saw him walk past.”

“Yeah,” Christian answers. “Just some paperwork. I was gonna head over to Main Street if you wanna have another drink?”

David’s face suddenly changes subtly, becomes more closed off as David slaps his back and then takes his hand away. “I can’t tonight. Still got some paperwork to   
do.”

Christian can see the lie a mile away and he knows that David has someone else that he’s hoping to spend the night with, presumably a woman. Christian’s not upset. David was always going to end up with a wife and kids and a white picket fence, no matter how many divorces it takes. 

“No problem. I’ll let you get to it then. See you later,” Christian backs away easily, this time making it to his truck without further interruptions. 

His mood actually starts to improve as he heads to the bar. He’s excited to actually go out and have a good time though he knows that he’s going to be paying for it the next day. Maybe Steve will be less pissed at him for not making it to the studio if he makes an effort to go out more.

He sees Steve and Jared sitting at the bar, an open seat between them. Jensen actually catches him on the way in, slinging an arm around Christian’s shoulders. 

“Anyone follow you here?” Jensen asks facetiously. 

“Asshole,” Christian says, shrugging off Jensen’s arm as he takes the free seat beside Steve. “Jack straight,” he tells the bartender. 

“In town again? What’s the occasion?” Steve asks, taking a sip of his beer bottle. 

Christian wonders if the anger he can hear in Steve’s voice is really there or if it’s just in his head. He hates feeling like he has to explain himself, like he shouldn’t be able to come to town and not see Steve. Even though he himself thinks that most of the time. “Get some paperwork from Tim,” he says as he takes his drink. “You know he likes to do it over dinner.”

Steve nods slightly and takes another drink, signaling for another after. Christian frowns wondering how pissed Steve is when Jared is pointing at the tv above the bar. 

“Dude, doesn’t that look like Chris?” Jared says pointing. 

They all squint at the screen and Christian has to admit it does, same build and long brunette hair. Different eye color, though, he thinks. Then he realizes it’s a murder victim.

“Yeah, short and butch,” a familiar voice says behind him and then Christian is being half tackled into the bar. 

“Better than tall and scrawny,” Christian fires back, knowing it’s Riley before he turns, immediately putting the younger man in a headlock. 

“Hey,” Riley starts whining, pulling his head out and smoothing down his hair. ‘Don’t do that.”

Christian laughs at the guy’s pout. He turns back to the bar to take another sip of his drink and the bartender asks him, “You gonna play tonight?”

Christian smiles even as he’s trying to shake his head no. He knows he’ll give in and he does as soon as Steve looks at him. Steve isn’t going to ask him to play, wouldn’t beg him when he wants Christian to want to play. But Christian wants to make Steve happy. He wants to show Steve that he is still interested in the music, in all those things they talked about in college, sitting up all night in their dorm room. 

“Did you bring your guitar?” Christian asks, laughing when Steve’s eyes narrow. 

“Of course, I did,” Steve answers immediately. But even as he’s getting off his bar stool, he’s complaining. “I see what you’re doing. You didn’t come to actually see me, did you?”

Christian just smiles as he grabs a couple stools to take to the small stage area that’s only raised about a foot off the ground. He has to take a minute as Steve gets set up to remember everything. They’ve been working on this second CD for years, but Christian hasn’t even practiced by himself in practically a month. 

They only play a couple of songs, but Christian is smiling bigger and wider than he has in the past month as they finish up. And things feel easier between him and Steve than they have in just as long. Steve is looking over at him with happiness in his face too. Christian can barely tear his eyes away. Steve like this is always captivating. He spares only a glance for the people clapping as they stand up again.

“No, no, that’s enough,” Christian says. “People wanna drink their beers in peace.” It’s silly because they know practically every person in here. They may live in a   
city, but it’s like a small town. 

Steve puts down his guitar and Christian always has to give him a tight hug afterward. He whispers thanks into Steve’s blonde hair because Christian does love this. He has a responsibility to his family, but he loves this and Steve lets him still have it. 

He lets Steve move away, eyes still lingering on the blonde man, seeing nothing but his friend and how goddamn happy they both are. He barely notices at first, sees Steve waving his hand, but it takes him another minute for him to realize that Steve is waving at someone else. There’s a blonde woman approaching the small stage. 

Steve hops down with his guitar case in one hand as he pulls the woman into a hug with the other. “Cassie, you made it,” Steve says excitedly. 

Christian swallows the feelings of rejection and hops down from the stage himself, managing to smile as he gets a lot of slaps on the back for playing. He shouldn’t feel this way he knows. It’s not that he’s jealous of Steve for having a date or even jealous of the girl. It’s just hard to watch all of Steve’s attention and affection go to somebody else when just a moment ago they were practically in a bubble of their own happiness. 

He thought they could hang out, like Steve is always saying. But that’s stupid because Steve didn’t even know that he was coming tonight. Of course, Steve would have made other plans. It’s not even that this is the first time or anything. He should be happy for Steve, happy to meet this girl, but Steve doesn’t seem interested in introducing him. 

Besides it’s late and he should be getting home. It’s midnight and he has to be up at dawn and he doesn’t need to stay here and watch Steve ignore him. Steve barely even looks up when Christian says a soft good night to both of them.

Christian is exhausted when he gets home, the day catching up with him and he’s warm and sleepy from the good conversation and the couple drinks. But as soon as he steps into his kitchen, he’s on edge. His bandanna is already back upstairs, but he’s still wondering how he left it downstairs in the first place. He grabs a drink of water slowly, trying not to start searching for misplaced things before making his way upstairs. 

But tonight, it’s hard to miss that someone has definitely been in his house. He made his bed this morning, though he may have ripped it apart trying to find the bandana. But what he did not do was neatly turn down the covers. 

Christian sucks in a shocked breath at the sight and drops the glass of water to bounce on the carpet. Someone has definitely been in his house, but it’s more than that. It’s more than moving things around his house. This is his bed. 

Suddenly Christian spins around, as if someone is behind him, as if someone’s watching him that he can’t see in the dark hallway. Not finding anyone doesn’t stop the blood rushing through his ears, though. He stops in the hallway, forcing himself to get it under control because what he needs to do is check the closets. 

Cautiously, he steps inside, grabbing for the baseball bat that he keeps near the door and then he’s opening up his closet and his bathroom. He’s not expecting to find anyone and he doesn’t, but he still feels relief at that fact. He’s only too happy to get out of the room though and he ends up back downstairs without even really deciding what to do. 

When he gets down there though, he doesn’t know what else to do besides pace his living room. He’s certain that he had to unlock his door when he came home tonight, but he’s never been paranoid about locking his door anyway, no one is around here. This is the Midwest, not a big city. Confused, Christian belatedly looks around his living room to see if anything is missing like his tv or computer, but all of his electronics are still there, the big items that would be stolen if it were a robbery. He doesn’t have a lot that’s worth stealing anyway. 

But if it isn’t a robbery…Christian’s thoughts are interrupted as his motion-activated porch light suddenly goes on. Setting his jaw with a frown, Christian grips the baseball bat hard as he charges out his front door. But there’s no one there, no one to explain what is going on and whether this is some stupid joke or not. If it’s not a joke, what could it possibly be? Christian is freaked out, but he feels like the scenarios running through his head are ridiculous. 

There’s no sound of a car speeding away full of laughing teenagers or anything that Christian is expecting. Why would someone want to scare him? Who would want to actually hurt him? Besides, just because someone is messing with his stuff, it doesn’t mean that he’s actually in danger. He still feels scared, though, no matter what he tells himself. Why else would someone mess with his bed of all things?

Growling in frustration, Christian goes back inside. He wants to scream, wants to hit something, anything with the useless bat in his hands, but he only furiously scratches a hand through his long hair. He thinks about getting back in his truck and going over to Steve’s place for the night, but he doesn’t think that he’ll be able   
to sleep anyway. And in the back of his mind, he doesn’t want Steve to laugh at him for being a baby, worse if Steve is still out with Jensen and Jared. 

He feels like a baby and he hates it. It’s probably nothing. It’s not like it was even any kind of a threat or anything. It’s just his bed, but Christian can’t make himself go back upstairs. He goes back into his kitchen and grabs a beer, feeling like he needs a little relaxation. But even as he’s taking the first sip, he’s startling at a sound outside. It’s just a car, but this isn’t a neighborhood where young people live, coming and going at all hours. Normally the only car he sees at night on this street is his own. 

Quickly he finishes one beer and has another. This one he takes back into the living room with him. The house is too quiet suddenly and he turns on the tv. He isn’t sure whether he likes or dislikes the way the sound of it now masks his ability to hear anyone outside, or even in his house. In the end, he turns it off again,   
preferring to hear what’s going on. Slowly, he drinks his beer by himself in silence, trying not to leap off the couch and investigate every little noise. 

*********************************

Christian slowly wakes, stretching underneath the blankets. His alarm sounds oddly muffled and the room is too bright for his bedroom on the west side of the house. Eventually he realizes the sound of his phone is coming from beneath the blankets. He starts reaching into his back pocket when he realizes that he’s still wearing his nice clothes from the night before. His hand slows as he brings the phone out, the alarm getting louder once free of the blanket before he turns it off. 

That’s when he remembers that he never went to bed last night, when he remembers why he never went to bed last night. Fuck, he thinks as he drops the phone on the blanket to rub through his hair that feels like it’s sticking straight up. 

But he doesn’t remember getting a blanket. Confused, he sits up more so that he can better see it. It’s not just any blanket. It’s the blanket from his Nana, the one that he keeps in the hope chest at the foot of his bed. 

Christian is off of the couch a second after his realization. If his bed being touched last night bothered him, it’s nothing compared to what he feels now knowing that someone was close enough to touch him while he slept on. How could anyone even get that close?

Horrified, Christian just wants to get out of this house. He has a couple extra shirts at his parents’ house so he doesn’t even stop to brush his teeth just heads out to his truck.

He doesn’t see anyone on the porch across his house, doesn’t see the red Jetta at all as he speeds along to his parents’ house. It’s still dark when he sneaks inside, but he’s unsurprised to see his parents awake, getting ready for the day despite their so-called ‘retirement’. 

His momma gives him a frown when she sees that he’s still wearing the button-down from last night, but fortunately, she doesn’t mention it. He’s not in the mood to fight with her about him being a thirty year old man who can make his own decisions right now. She offers to make him breakfast, but his stomach is too tied up in knots to appreciate getting a meal he doesn’t have to cook. 

Instead, he simply head backs out to the stable. Whereas yesterday he was distracted, today he’s focused. He’s desperately trying not to focus on the skin-crawling sensation of someone being in his house, in his bed, pulling a blanket up his sleeping body…

He shivers and it’s not because of any chill. Getting most of the work done before any of the day’s volunteers even show, he lets them just feed their own horses snacks and give them baths. His Dad handles the foal, but Christian just keeps busy with . But at lunchtime, he can’t resist taking out his phone as he sucks down a liter bottle of water and grabs a banana from inside. 

Fortunately, Steve picks up as Christian belatedly realizes he’s disturbing the guy in the middle of the day. 

“Hey, Chris,” Steve answers. “What’s up?”

“Not a lot, well…I was just wondering if you knew if someone was in town or if y’all’ve been over to my place, maybe last night…” Christian says stupidly, letting the sentence hang as he decides what else he could say that won’t make him sound crazy. 

“No, dude,” Steve says laughing. “What is the problem with you? Do you have early onset dementia or something? Can’t remember where you left things?”

Christian is even more pissed at being blown off this time. “Seriously? No, just last night-I swear someone was in my house last night. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up with a blanket on top of me and it…”

“Seriously, Christian?” Steve interrupts him. “You’re freaked out because you woke up with a blanket on you? How much did you even drink last night?”

“What?” Christian asks, even as he’s remembering the two beers in quick succession after a couple of whiskeys at the bar. The more Steve talks, the more he feels like he’s been freaking out over nothing. And it makes him irritated as he rubs his forehead hard. 

“It wasn’t just that,” Christian tries again. “Last night, I also…I came home and my bed was turned down. I know I didn’t do that.”

Steve huffs over the phone like Christian is an idiot and Christian hates it. “Have you asked David? He’s the only one I know who would do something like that.”

Christian rolls his eyes despite or maybe because Steve can’t see him. He doesn’t want to fight with Steve about David. Steve has always hated the other guy for some reason. 

“No, I haven’t asked David,” Christian admits and he can practically hear the smug across the phone line. “Anyway, I’ll see you Saturday night, right?”

“Yeah, man, Jay said he’d come too so I’ll try to get a full band together this time,” Steve easily accepts the change in conversation. 

“Sounds great,” Christian says. “See you.”

Christian hangs up, squinting in the sunlight as he lifts the bottle to finish off his water. He debates with himself for a minute, but then gives in and calls David. He just has to make sure that it’s not someone he knows, for his peace of mind. 

“Yo,” David answers. 

“Hey, man, sorry to call you at work,” Christian starts before deciding to just put it out there. “I was just wondering if you’d been in my house recently. Somebody had kinda messed with my bed last night and I was just wondering…”

“In your house? Without you?” David asks, distractedly. “No, I haven’t been there recently. It’s actually been kind of a while, maybe this weekend, we can…” David’s voice is softer and more intimate by the end.

“Yeah…sounds good,” Christian cuts the other man off. He can tell that David thinks he’s talking about their sex life rather than his house being broken into. And no, that’s a conversation he really doesn’t want to have right now, or possibly ever. 

“Oh, the volunteers are here,” Christian lies blatantly just to get off the phone. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

He doesn’t really give the other man a chance to respond before he’s hanging up. Slowly, he goes back inside to fill up his water bottle again before getting back to work. 

By the time Christian finally makes it back to his home, he’s purposefully exhausted. He has paperwork to do but fuck if he wants to do it at this point. He’s already stripping as he goes upstairs to the shower. He is purposefully not looking at anything in his house. Whoever this guy is he hasn’t done anything to hurt Christian so it’s fine. Let the guy sniff his boxers or whatever. 

Christian is down to his boxers and tshirt when pain explodes in the back of his head. 

*****************************

Awakening to pain, Christian at first thinks it’s dark because his eyes feel glued shut. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s still pitch black when his eyes are open. His head is just pounding, like the worst hangover ever, but there’s a sharp pain on the left side of his head near his temple. When he moves, he realizes it feels wet and sticky from his hair to his neck on that side. 

He shifts awkwardly, awareness hitting him in the face when he realizes that his hands are bound in zip ties in front of him. Suddenly frantic, he feels around, realizing that he’s bound at the wrist and ankle with a long one connecting them. He’s so caught up trying to get out of the bonds that it takes him a long time to realize where he is. The floor is hard and dirty beneath him Iike a basement or cellar. 

Groaning at the increased pain after his frantic movements, Christian tries to be still for a moment, tries to gather himself to think. He’s just pushing himself up on his bound hands when there’s a sound from across the room, the sound of footsteps on the cement floor. 

Shocked that he didn’t realize that someone was in the room with him, Christian tries to move away from the sound but he’s too uncoordinated to get very far. He doesn’t even have time to look up to see who it is before the man is behind him, slipping something over his head. Christian’s heart stutters in his chest as a thick rope settles around his throat. The man is close, intimately so as he sweeps Christian’s hair out of the noose. 

Christian tries to elbow the man in the shin, practically falling as he tries to stand up. The man doesn’t even say anything, simply moves away. And then Christian is being forcibly pulled to his feet, by his neck, the rope already cutting off his air no matter how hard he sucks it in his mouth. His feet twitch on the ground as he’s pulled into the air and then he’s kicking, twisting, desperate to find some kind of leverage that will stop him from choking to death. 

He stumbles when his feet touch the ground again, still choking himself as he tries to find his balance with his ankles bound. His knees want to just collapse but he realizes with a start that his own weakness can kill him just as quickly as this fucker behind him. 

Christian jumps, almost falling again when the man behind him laughs. It’s soft and deliberate, meant for him to hear. He suddenly realizes that he’s only wearing his boxers and his skin rises in goosebumps at the man’s nearness. 

“You’re strong,” he says softly as Christian struggles against the wrist restraints, each struggle jerking his feet and threatening to topple him. 

“But you ignored all the warnings, just like the others,” the man says and Christian jerks his face toward the sound, feeling small as he tries to look up. 

He’s surprised by the punch to his cheek, even more surprised when the noose around his neck tightens, pulling him up to his toes before he’s being punched again in the ribs. 

He can hear the sound of his own wheezing breath, of his blood pumping, trapped in his head. The desperate need to breath, to relieve the pressure in his head is much more immediate than the blows that are rained down on his body so he tries not to flinch away, to keep standing as tall as he can manage. 

It’s not until the blows stop and some of the pressure is released that he starts to feel the pain in the rest of his body, the pain in his ribs each time that he takes a breath. Then he starts to understand. 

“So sure of yourselves,” the man says and the idea of other men being strangled to death down in this cellar by this freak causes a chill to run down Christian’s exposed spine. The man hasn’t touched him much, but still Christian feels vulnerable and exposed. 

Christian swallows painfully, somehow still surprised when his feet are suddenly lifted off the ground again. He can barely struggle this time, his entire focus on the burning in his lungs, the searing pain in his throat, the pounding in his head. 

He doesn’t know whether to be surprised or not when he’s dropped on his feet again, but this time he regains his balance more easily. He knows every time could be his last but when he’s choked, he doesn’t have any thoughts, any regrets. He only feels pain and panic. 

He’s still trying to catch his breath, blinking black spots from his wet eyes when the man speaks again. “You didn’t have plans tonight, did you?”

It’s dark and the man stays out of direct sight and all Christian can see is the dim view of light brown hair, and a lankier build than his own. He understands the   
man’s taunts. He doesn’t know what time is now but no one will miss him until morning. He has no hope of rescue until then and, if possible, he feels that much more helpless. 

He begins to struggle against his bonds just out of pure frustration. He can feel the skin ripping underneath the plastic, warm slick sliding down his thumb. He’s not surprised when the slack is taken out of the noose again and he’s forced on his tiptoes to keep breathing. For a heart-shattering moment, he wishes that the guy   
would just get it over with. If he’s going to die down here, just keep pulling the rope then. 

But he doesn’t. The guy is playing with him, beating and then choking him in turn. His forearm has taken a couple hard hits, and his kidneys. Christian can feel the man’s eyes on him from the shadows as he struggles in between, rages futilely. What he’s not expecting after all this, when he’s exhausted, the days of worry and his current pain overwhelming him, is to be left alone. 

The man doesn’t say anything else, just trails a gentle hand across the tense muscles of his back before heading up the short staircase, confirming that it is a storm cellar that they’re in. There’s a thin sliver of daylight as the door opens and the man leaves Christian hanging there, still breathing harshly. His fear pounds in his battered body at the thought of being left alone. 

It only takes a few minutes for the reality of it to really set in, all of his exhaustion, all of the aches in his body, even the adrenaline slowly wearing off. His throat and head still hurt the worst, but soon even that isn’t enough to rival the need to just rest for a moment. Painfully, he swallows again against the rope, thinking that this is definitely worse than the beating. 

Faces flitter through his mind behind his eyes, every person who’s ever meant anything to him, his parents and sister and her kids, Steve and David and Tim…He can’t seem to focus on any one for long, doesn’t think about what he would say to them if he could say goodbye mostly because he can’t think of a single thing. He just hopes that they all know that he loves them. 

About the third time that he nods off and has to struggle to figure out how to stop from choking still half-asleep, he sinks into melancholy. It gets worse when the press of his bladder won’t be ignored any more. He wants to hide as the first trickles of urine make their way down his thigh, but he can’t shift his face at all, doesn’t even think that his face can get any redder than it already is. He stands there in boxers soaked in his own piss and begins to wonder how many others have   
suffocated themselves waiting for rescue just like him. But he doesn’t want to die. 

That gets stronger in his head like he’s turned a corner, gotten a second wind, no matter how exhausted he is and how thirsty and pained. He’s giving himself some sort of pep talk even though mostly it revolves around that he’s not dying yet. 

He focuses his attention more on the restraints tying him down. With his face forced up, he can’t lift his bound hands to his mouth, can’t even look down to see his hands. He knows that it is possible to break zip ties but he can’t seem to get any leverage with his hands tied down to his feet. Mostly, he’s restricted to just sawing off his own skin in a pathetic attempt to get free. His entire hands feel wet and sticky by the time he hears the trap door opening again. 

“Still awake?” the man asks, annoyingly smug. 

Christian bears his teeth to show that he’s not cowed yet even though he can’t actually speak or fight back or even defend himself. It’s maddening, and humiliating and…frightening as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. As much as he wants to fight against it, he feels utterly terrified. 

This time the man has a knife and Christian’s heart drops to his stomach. He’s certain that this is really it this time. He tightens the muscles in his arms as the knife comes closer, readying for an attack even though he’s totally helpless. He tightens his stomach muscles as the blade heads there, eventually cutting into the fragile skin over his ribs practically underneath his right arm. 

It burns, but once the shock fades, Christian can feel that it’s not deep, meant more to bleed than to actually injure. But it’s not the only cut. The next one runs down his forearm and Christian chokes back a cry of pain as he can’t even move his head to look at the damage. A last cut digs along his back, making Christian arch as   
much as he can, the blood already itchy on his skin, making him want to get away like a physical need underneath his skin. 

It’s all weakening him, he realizes. The beating, the cutting, plus being dehydrated and exhausted are all taking their toll. The guy could just lift him off his feet until he suffocates, but it doesn’t happen. The guy seems more interested in his pain, in watching him struggle to stay on his feet, the grimace on his face as he tries to swallow, to even breathe. 

There’s only one thing he can control, in between being choked and during beatings and cuttings. He can only continue to work his slick hands in the restraints, desperate to get out even if he has to lose his hands entirely, even if it means never working with the horses again or playing the guitar. He just wants to survive this. 

Tears are leaking from his eyes as he barely manages to get back to standing after being choked again. He feels at the end of his rope, like he won’t be able to keep standing for much longer. His legs are starting to shake and the man is coming at him with the knife raised different, not like he’s going to cut Christian again but like he’s going to stab it deep into a muscular thigh, cutting off Christian’s last hope. 

Desperately, Christian pulls at his bound hands. Giving a reckless last pull, he wings his elbows out to the sides as he tries pulling his hands into his belly. He doesn’t know who’s more surprised when the zip tie pops off. But he doesn’t hesitate unlike his captor. He grabs the knife immediately, both of their hands on it and Christian pushes back, stabbing the knife into the other man’s chest as hard as he possibly can. 

It’s not until the man falls forward that he really thinks about it, about what he’s done. The man falls forward on top of him and Christian gasps as the warm gush of blood hitting his own skin. For the first time, he gets a clear view of the man, green eyes that slowly turn brown and dim as they stare up at him, tan skin and sandy brown hair that brushes the bare skin of Christian’s chest as the man slowly slides down to land at the floor, lying there lifeless. 

Christian shudders, trying to gasp in hysterical breaths. The man is…dead, and he-he can’t think. Shaking himself, Christian reaches up to get his neck out of the noose. Unfortunately, that’s not as easy as he thought it would be. His numb, slick fingers can’t get any purchase and he can’t see what he should be pulling at anyway. Frustrated, Christian remembers the knife but he feels sick when he realizes that he left it in the man’s chest. 

He can’t seem to get his breathing and his panic under control as he continues to stare at the ceiling, his chin still forced up by the rope around his neck. He just killed that man, but he’s no better off. He’s still dying in this wretched cellar. His legs still feel like giving out even knowing that there won’t be any fresh injuries. But if he doesn’t get water soon, none of this will matter. 

Reaching above his head again, Christian struggles despite how quickly his arms tire and how much pain his hands are in. The longer that he tries though, the dizzier he becomes until he starts to sway. His ankles are still tied together and he’s getting more and more unsteady. But he’s so close. 

He lets his arms fall to his sides and tries to rest as much as he can without falling asleep, or passing out. It’s not long before he’s choking himself, but it’s hard now to focus on what to do, hard to wake up enough to struggle again. There’s still no rescue coming and the only thing that he can think of is to try to get the knife back. 

The man, killer he reminds himself, is lying at his feet, so close but yet so far from his hands. All he has is his feet to try to get the knife. The first problem, he realizes, is that even if he could grab the knife in his toes, he couldn’t get the knife to his hands with his ankles tied together, not without choking himself into unconsciousness first. All he can think to do is to try to break the restraint just like he did his hands. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes as he keeps trying to bend his knees despite how it tightens the rope at his throat. He’s more exhausted than ever but he clings to the fact that he managed it with his hands. He managed to get his hands free in time to save himself from the killer. Surely, he can get his feet free before he dies of thirst. 

The pain feels like it takes up his whole body soon, just burning pain everywhere. He just wants it to stop. He’s in such pain that he would stop, but taking a break from getting free doesn’t make the pain go away. He feels like he wants to cry but no tears come. He thinks he’s making some kind of noises though. No one’s there to hear him and everything is feeling sort of hazy. 

He’s swaying on his feet by the time he gets free. It barely even registers though, and that should be more worrying that he’s practically getting used to not breathing, that it’s not worrying him anymore. But even with his feet free, he has to stretch to reach the knife, letting the noose tighten further as he leans, reaching with his toes to grab it out of the man’s chest. He can’t even tell whose blood is drying all over him anymore. 

His toes slip off the blade a few times as he tries to pull it out and then he drops it a few times before he manages a hold good enough that he can lift his leg up to his hand. It’s when he actually has the blade in his hand that he really feels like crying. 

The noose in the back is too thick to cut through so he brings the knife up to the side of his neck. The rope is even too tight to slip the knife underneath so he ends up sawing it from the outside. He knows that he’s cutting himself but fuck if he gives a shit. The idea of just getting out of this cellar seems more important than not bleeding to death, just dying outside seems a million times better. 

He doesn’t realize when the rope is about to give. It takes forever to saw through with his fingers so slippery with blood. All of a sudden he’s just falling into pain and darkness. 

He must pass out because he’s even more disoriented when he realizes that he’s on the floor, half-lying over the other man’s body that’s now stiff as he tries to slither off towards the stairs. His head feels like it could roll right off of his neck and now his ribs have joined in protesting every breath, every move. His hands and feet feel heavy and stiff, more like paws than hands as he crawls uncoordinated across the concrete floor. 

The steps are even worse and by the time that he gets to the top, he’s convinced that he’ll never be able to lift the door open. It’s possible that he passes out again because, from one moment to the next, his limbs feel stiff and his head heavier. Perhaps the rest gives him another tiny wind, another burst of strength because that’s what he does, gathers himself and shoves at the door hard enough for it to open and for him to spill out onto the dirt outside. Trying to keep the momentum, he stumbles to his feet, managing a few stumbling steps that propel him forward too fast for his feet to keep up. 

He hears yelling, but it sounds like the buzzing that’s been in his head for hours only louder. As he starts to fall though, it’s not onto the ground but into someone’s arms. He’s suddenly sliding down someone’s chest, someone’s arms underneath his armpits trying to shift him upwards. He can hear the sounds coalesce into words now, shouting. 

“Don’t…Don’t shoot,” he finally understands. “It’s the…victim, it’s…Christian.”

His head falls back as he’s shifted again and it hurts so much, in his throat and his head and he knows that he makes some kind of sound because through his graying vision he can see the man above him looking at him with anguished dark eyes. 

It’s those dark sympathetic eyes and the hint of salt n’pepper hair that follow him into unconsciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I know fuck all about horse farms and breeding so it’s all made up. The bad guy is based on Michael Weatherly. Also, do they drink sweet tea in Oklahoma?
> 
> This is only part one. I am writing a part two that will focus on the comfort and contain relationship pairings.


End file.
